


Five Flavors of Fancy

by orphan_account



Category: Pocket Monsters | Pokemon (Anime)
Genre: Crossdressing, F/M, Female Character In Command, Gender Role Reversal, Making Out
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-10
Updated: 2014-04-10
Packaged: 2018-01-18 22:00:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,781
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1444399
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>James knew without doubt that he could aggravate Jessie in ways that no one else could. And his favorite way was to show off how he looked in her skirts. But Jessie had her limits, and James knew how to step all over them. And yet still, Jessie refused to believe he could do anything right.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Five Flavors of Fancy

"I kind of like that lace one."

Jessie ground her teeth together, glaring ahead with steel freezing in her eyes. She was convinced that if she heard _one_ more casual remark about her clothes, she would fall into a rage. She had been struggling against bursts of fury the entire hour––she had not ever imagined that sorting through her numerous outfits could be so taxing on her nerves.

She, James, and Meowth had deposited their possessions near the wall the night before. They were used to the routine of huddling in old house trailers or shanties for shelter as they followed the group of twerps on their way to the Johto League––because they never stayed in one place for more than a week, they always kept their things packed away in suitcases. Keeping everything in boxes saved them much time when they gathered up their belongings to leave, but one drawback was that it was more difficult to find one certain thing among so many cartons and duffel bags.

Jessie hated having her clothes strewn about, so she had decided to spend her morning organizing her costumes and dresses. She had not planned on being forced to ignore James as he hung over her, his chest pressing against her back as he surveyed the blouse that she lifted up.

Shaking the wrinkles from the blue silk, Jessie gazed uncertainly at a smudge of indiscernible origin that marred the sleeve. She scowled, realizing that it would have to be dry-cleaned.

"I have some laundry soaps that work on silks," James offered, still pushing against her back in his eagerness to see the expensive shirt. Surrendering to impulse, Jessie slammed her elbow backwards––the reward for her effort was a grating squawk from James as he staggered away from her.

"That hurt, you grouchy little..." James pouted childishly, gingerly cupping his palm over his sore stomach. "If that leaves a bruise, I'm telling Meowth." His chin jutted defiantly, as if he had dropped one of the most savage threats possible and hoped that he looked just as vicious.

"Ooh, please, don't," Jessie said in a sarcastic drawl. "The big kitty might hurt poor little me." Rolling her eyes in exasperation, she tossed the silk blouse aside, rummaging through the suitcase in search of its matching sash.

James sobered, his daring attitude melting since Jessie displayed no interested in retorting. Apologetically, he stepped closer, standing motionless by her side.

"I can clean that shirt if you want," he said quietly. Clasping his hands at his front, he watched as Jessie tugged a ruffled skirt from the piles of wadded clothes.

"Don't bother getting your pretty little hands wet," she scoffed, snapping the creases from the skirt. "That's the last thing I need right now, you flouncing in here, squalling over a split nail and how you'll absolutely _die_ if we don't have enough spending money for you to get a professional manicure."

A grin quirked the corner of James's lips, as he felt much more at ease with Jessie insulting him rather than dismissing his presence entirely.

"I don't see why you're feeling so peachy," Jessie grumbled, but James detected the smile in her voice. Perceiving this as encouragement, he edged closer to her, his shoulder brushing against hers as he slipped his hand into the edge of the suitcase and fumbled for a grip on some unwilling garment. Jessie bristled at the undesired contact, shooting him a withering glance from the corner of her eye.

"What do you think you're doing?" she asked, the question seeming solid with ice. James shrugged lightly, the motion rocking Jessie as his shoulder nudged her. She growled in annoyance, jerking the suitcase away. A mere strip of a skirt dangled from James's fingers, and Jessie had the fleeting, albeit embarrassing thought that he had unearthed a pair of her undergarments.

"Do you mind telling me what you're looking for?" She swiped the miniskirt away, protectively clutching the sequin-studded burgundy cotton to her bosom.

Stunned, James blankly stared at her, then at his empty hand. Flexing his fingers, perhaps to ensure that the digits were still attached after sustaining Jessie's violent movement, he dumbly regarded the aggressive snarl that darkened her face.

"Well, my goodness, Jess, I was only going to help you fold up your clothes."

Not entirely sure if she should believe him, Jessie sniffed in distrust, flipping the skirt onto the unmade cot. "Say what you must, but keep your nosy little paws out of my things."

James gaped at her hostility over such a trifle matter. "Only heaven knows _how_ many times I've borrowed your shorts when my laundry's in the wash! Why get so upset now, after I've already seen every pair of underwear you have? It's a little too late for that, you know."

Sighing in defeat, Jessie shook her head, her long tail of hair swinging from side to side. How exactly was she expected to explain her reason for becoming defensive? She couldn't pin a label on the feeling––it had most likely been her curbed anger flaring up after having been stifled for so long.

"Honestly, James, you have a way of aggravating the fire out of me. If you don't stop flapping your jaws, you're going find yourself standing outside up to your neck in a snowbank––without any clothes on _at all_."

Her lame remark had the opposite effect of what she had desired, as James gave a tittering giggle that he made no attempt to smother. Jessie vaguely wondered if she had lost her ability to infuriate him by her snide jibes, but absentmindedly tossed a cardigan into his arms to keep him quiet.

"There, make yourself useful," she said. "Put that on a hanger and take it into the closet."

Obediently, James ambled away, returning a moment later with a plastic hanger. Grappling with the sweater, he tugged it over the hanger and primly hooked it over the closet doorknob. Surveying the wool cardigan critically, he bent down, plucking a loose thread from the hem and distractedly poking it into his pocket.

"Hey, Jess," he said abruptly, standing up. "I can unpack the rest of your luggage if you'd like."

"Sure, whatever'll keep you out of my way," Jessie said in a mutter, miffed that he was trying so perseveringly to help her. Twisting around, she jabbed her finger toward the rows of cartons that spanned the length of one wall.

"Get the one that's marked. It has skirts and slips and things like that in it. You still haven't sewn my pair of stockings that you ripped," she said accusingly.

"I'll get them later, when I mend my uniform jacket," James promised. He knelt in front of the specified suitcase, prying open the buckles and recoiling instinctively when the case burst open. Slips and petticoats bounced free, scattered over the floor.

Jessie didn't spare the energy to look at the mild catastrophe. "James..." she began sternly, but she wasn't given the chance to finish before James sprang up, snatching up the garments.

"I––I––I'll be right back," he said, stammering, and before Jessie could demand that he stay where he was, he twirled around on his heel, cradling the piles of clothing and scurrying over the raised threshold into the parlor. His footsteps clattered over the weak floorboards, and Jessie exhaled deeply through her nose, feeling tension drain from behind her forehead.

"I swear, that boy," she griped, slamming the flaps of the carton closed and shoving it away. Stalking to the wall, she squatted, straining to wrap her arms around one large box. With difficulty, she picked her way back to the bed, lowering the heavy box to the mattress.

"If it isn't one thing, it's another," she continued, engrossed in relieving herself of her pent-up vexation. "I ought to smash his head into the sewing kit. Maybe then he'd finally buckle down and do what I tell him to. Whiny, big-mouthed, idiot bluenette."

Even as she said the unfeeling words, she knew that James didn't truly deserve them. In fact, she did enjoy his company, though he did always find special methods of bothering her. She really didn't understand how he excelled at doing so. But it was possible for her to appreciate that fact––James knew more about her than anyone. Meowth annoyed her, of course, and so did the twerps, almost incessantly so. But James knew all her peeves, even the ones that she usually managed to keep hidden. She supposed that she should have been thankful for someone who knew her in all those little ways.

But it was certainly difficult for her to be thankful for James when he tried so diligently to annoy her.

"Hey, Jes––sie!" James announced his presence by calling her name in a sickening singsong manner, much as if he were beckoning a puppy to his feet. Renewed by her resolve to be patient with him, Jessie held her breath, her eyelids fluttering shut as she rose.

"Did you fold up my things?" she asked coolly, refusing to be enraged by his flippancy. James's footsteps sounded odd as he crept behind her; hollow and light. Curiously, Jessie turned her head to peek over her shoulder, and all her determination to be kind to him evaporated as her stomach lurched up against her ribs.

"What's wrong, Jessie?" James slowly slid his fingertip along the protruding curve of his lower lip, tracing his coy smirk. "You aren't mad, are you? I didn't mean to drop your things. I really didn't mean to forget about sewing your stockings. Please, don't be angry with me..."

Jessie's throat tightened as she swept her gaze up and down James's scantily-clad body. While absent from her room, James had hurriedly dressed himself in the very clothes he had hastened to carry out––Jessie's clothes.

A loose sweater hung limply from his thin frame, its knit fabric hugging his waist but falling in wrinkles around his flat chest. His legs were displayed in the smallest of Jessie's skirts, seeming much longer and almost awkwardly gangly beneath the bunched lace. Even as he shifted his weight, his hip jutting to the side, the flush drained from Jessie's cheeks. She caught a deliberate glimpse of magenta silk in the dip between his legs, and she instantly recognized the familiar color as her favorite pair of panties.

"For the love of..." She swallowed. "James, take those off. Now." She shook her head vigorously, unnerved by the unpleasant sight. Pressing her fingertips to her forehead, she kneaded the soft skin as if struggling to retain a grip on her cracking composure. A barely perceptible shudder trailed down her back, and she felt a swell of unease rise in her belly as James frowned.

"Oh, Jessie, don't ignore me," he pleaded, leaning closer until Jessie could see the flecks of gold in his wet eyes. "I couldn't help it. All your clothes... I just needed to..."

Jessie brought her knee up between them to shove James away. Just narrowly missing the blow, James drew back, offended by her embarrassment.

"You are _disgusting,_ " Jessie said, enunciating the last word. "I'll never wear those panties again."

"Jessie," James whined, curling his fingers into the front of his sweater. "Please. Don't be angry."

"Disgusting!" Jessie repeated. She knew she was being childish, but her personality––her character––refused to allow her freedom to express what she truly thought of James's cunning prank. She doggedly attempted to ignore the warmth that surrounded her heart as James edged closer, his eyes glazed with a mixture of shame and fear. He tentatively reached out, his fingers unfurling and moving closer––closer, ready to ghost over her jaw.

"Don't touch me," Jessie snarled. James flinched, drawing up his shoulders in a defensive shrug. The pink shadow dusting his cheeks met on the bridge of his nose and rapidly grew darker.

 _Why does he pull idiotic stunts like this?_ Jessie wondered. She pressed her hands to the bed, using the mattress for support as she leaned backward, further away from James. _He gets to me so bad, I want to knock his teeth through the back of his head. But still, he knows. He knows how to look at me just right. He's not stupid. No one else in the world can make me want to kill him and kiss him at the same time._

"Jessie," James said softly, "I'm sorry. Shall... shall I––"

The rest of his timid question was garbled and not understandable to anyone other than Jessie. But little did it matter, as no one else had a reason to hear what he said.

Jessie dropped her weight forward, bending down awkwardly until she became level with James's height. Their noses bumped together clumsily, her freckled one against his short one, but even in her haste, Jessie met her goal. Her open mouth descended upon James's, fitting over his moving lips and creating a suction that allowed her to easily taste the essence of his contrite words. She pushed forward, splaying her hand over his flat narrow chest, forcing him to tip his head back. She greedily drank in the vibrations of his interrupted voice, roused by the way her throat quivered as she swallowed.

Any other time, James would have staggered backward, startled by her sudden compliance with his desire. But he knew her stubborn will would, at last, break under the pressure of his teasing.

Eagerly, he accepted the contact of her soft lips, not moving against her, but remaining still and stiff as if fearful his advance would discourage her. His eyelids drooped to hide his shiny eyes, Jessie's hair, midriff jacket, and irises blurring into a smear of red and white and blue. Jessie aggressively wrapped her fist in his jumper, keeping him steady. She pulled at the rolls of loose wool, almost as if trying to climb onto James, squeezing her legs tightly around his hips. Surprised, James flailed for balance, at last staggering back against the wall with a breathy grunt. Jessie collapsed against him, her breath knocked from her lungs with the jolt.

"Why can't you do anything right?" Jessie asked, as if having little hope James would ever learn exactly how to effectively please her. She lifted her forearm, pressing it against James's chest to pin him to the wall, much as if he were some sort of fascinating insect being mounted on a board for close examination.

James wriggled enough to have Jessie believe he was helpless to free himself from her. "Surely I can do _something_ right," he said, but the arching of Jessie's thin red eyebrow proved she was not convinced.

"Yeah?" Jessie absentmindedly rubbed her thumb along a wrinkle in James's sweater, smoothing it out. James shifted from one side to the other, his hips moving beneath the ruffled skirt. "James, no matter what you do, you botch it. You tear my clothes, you drop my things, you're an oaf, plain and simple. Now just shut up."

She grasped his collar, tugging him near enough to kiss him. But she didn't, not at first. She stared at his lips, her eyes growing foggy and distant. Then, as if apologizing for her earlier roughness, she slowly drew closer, touching her mouth against the soft underside of his chin.

Rather than return the gesture passionately, James did what Jessie expected him to. He giggled giddily, his throat jerking with the motion and causing Jessie's lips to tickle him. Her lipstick smeared over his neck, but he cared much less than Jessie did. He seemed happy, that one sympathetic, gentle kiss letting him know without doubt he was forgiven.

Almost embarrassed that she had shown a ray of affection toward James that was not entirely shadowed in lust, Jessie released him, lowering her leg from its place of stroking her knee along his bare thigh. She abruptly turned away, her mullet nearly popping against James's flushed cheek.

"I... well, I must be doing _something_ right," he began to comment, but the words caught and lumped behind his tongue as Jessie glared at him. He smiled benignly, lowering his hand to brush it against his borrowed miniskirt. Jessie rolled her eyes, hunching over her task of sorting her belongings once more as James contentedly twirled a loose strip of lace around his finger.

It amazed him how easily he could control Jessie in much the same way, without her ever realizing it. Yes, he decided, there _is_ a fine line between being the giver and the taker. But the line could easily be crossed, and either way, he loved it.


End file.
